Don't care if it hurts
by Muse-at-dawn
Summary: Dean wants to believe that Sam has his back, he wants to believe him, but whenever he looks into his eyes he wonders if he can actually trust him again. Wincest. Spoilers from "Live Free or Twihard" 6x05.


**Disclaimer: Kripke is the genius who created this world, I just borrow his characters.**

**Claim: Dean/Sam. Hints of Dean/Castiel and Sam/Ruby.**

**Warnings: Wincest. Spoilers from 6x05 "Live Free or Twihard"**

**Summary: **_Dean wants to believe that Sam has his back, he wants to believe him, but whenever he looks into his eyes he wonders if he can actually trust him again._

* * *

_Sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face, that the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste._

_"Hardest of Hearts" © Florence and the Machine._

**Don't care if it hurts**

Your teeth graze lightly his skin, almost drawing some drops of blood. Almost. Not enough, by now the fangs are definitely gone and you're glad, otherwise you wouldn't dare doing this. Or maybe you would. There was a brief moment before when you actually wondered how Sam's blood would _taste_ like. It wasn't your fault because, really, you could hear his heart pumping the red, intoxicating flood through his bloodstream and it was so damn compelling.

Outside the world is chaotic, there are crazy plans to build up armies going on and Heaven is facing a civil war. Inside it's not better. You can choose to ignore it while you hold your brother in your arms and do things you shouldn't be doing to him. You see him, the hardening column standing proudly erect, the oozing precum making the head shine, your fingers touching him _there_, the length, the head, the balls, even probing his tight entrance with the other hand and Sam moans because he needs more. You need more. You need to convince yourself that this is real, that whatever happens this will stay.

Some people, most of the people actually, would be horrified and call what you do a sin, an abomination. But you never thought it that way. Truth be told, even if you had, by now you wouldn't care, not when you've gone to Hell and back, not when you've seen your brother dying and being brought back.

You take him in your mouth. It's not the first time you give him a blowjob, although it's more common when he blows you. He groans and curses and pushes his hips up and you don't mind being fucked, not now. Now you want to think that this man writhing under your not-so-gentle ministrations is still Sam. He _tastes_ like Sam, he_ feels_ like him, he mimics every single motion your brother does when you're having sex, when you make love. He comes in your mouth and you swallow the come because you don't mind doing that every once in a while.

"Dean" his voice sounds hoarse. It always sounds like that after you make him come. That much hasn't changed.

Family is the most important thing in the world, or so you were taught. In your case, family has always been Sam. Ever since you were children and you helped your little brother with his homework or to get dressed properly. The bond between you grew stronger because you were never just brothers. As you once pointed out, you're each other's Achille's heel. You've ever been. You were Sam's first kiss whether he remembers it or not, because he was too shy to ask some cute little girl out, he was ashamed he wouldn't know how to kiss her, and so you taught him. He let you slide your tongue in his mouth and you felt complete. You were the one who talked to him about sex because he wouldn't dare asking somebody else.

You go down, pushing his legs apart, you don't mind. You've never done this yourself but he has and you have a general idea of what you have to do. You lick him there, you can tell he actually is aroused, you probe his entrance with your tongue and he curses in every language he has ever learnt. You remember you were heartbroken when Sam left you behind. By that time the only eventual affectionate exchanges between both of you were kisses, making out until you were left breathless, you wouldn't dare going further because he was still underage. But you knew back then that you loved him and it had nothing to do with the way brothers are supposed to love each other.

It was conflictive at the beginning, you liked women, there was just no way you could actually fancy your little brother like that. Just, no way. Except that you did fancy him. You fancy him enough as to think of him while jerking off, wishing it were his mouth, his body and not your hand, more than once you came with his name on your lips, rolling over your tongue, tasting like a sweet drug. The sweetest drug indeed. And more than once you actually hoped that wherever he were, whoever he were with, he were thinking of you.

"Sam"

A low, hoarse whisper, his fingers digging hard against your flesh as you enter him, maddening heat enveloping your hard dick. Yes, the heat you learnt to miss. The pressure his walls put on your cock driving you insane, the ecstasy drawn in his pupils, dark with lust, the way his mouth is partly open and his chest rises and falls heavily. You feel proud because you know you can do this to him, you can drive him to the edge, and so can he. It feels so fucking good being one. It sounds cheesy and ripped out from any chick-flick but you can understand what that phrase means.

Skin, sweat, bodies intertwined, a complicated dance that only you know how to dance. His mouth attacks yours and you are just too happy to kiss him back, hungrily, passionately. He's possesive, he marks you in places not so many people will notice. He's jealous because in his eyes you've already been claimed by Castiel the moment he left his palm printed upon your shoulder. He's frustrated because he doesn't one bonds of any kind between Castiel and you. You ought to be his and his only. And so you've claimed him. You spent so many nights erasing the kisses, the caresses Ruby might have left on him it was almost obsessive, but he never minded, he seemed pleased.

Being brothers was just mere chance but this goes beyond sharing the same parents, the same family tree, the same twisted family business or the same blood. This is about soulmates. A bond no one will ever understand. You'd give your life for him, scratch that, you already have. And so have him. Which is precisely the problem. After Sam came back from Hell you don't think you know him anymore. There's something about him that's just plain scary, some details, a look that doesn't fit him, the coldness, the indifference. You still shiver when you think in the way he looked when Castiel was basically torturing the poor child to get the name of the angel. For a second you thought he was actually _enjoying_ those terrible screams and the idea made your blood freeze.

You know what it feels like, enjoying the pain of others, you know because Alastair taught you well that lesson. You know because you went to Hell and you spent a lot of time being the torturer, tearing apart flesh and enjoying it. You know because every now and then the nightmares still won't let you sleep and it's just disturbing to notice how unaffected Sam seems to be with the whole thing. Yes, it's true that he spent less time than you down there and that's what bothers you the most, with all those secrets and hunting with Samuel, well, is almost as if Sam weren't your brother anymore.

Harder, harder, closer, closer, closer. You can't stop thrusting rhythmically in and out, faster, faster, the need to bury yourself deeper being almost overwhelming. And he welcomes you every time, the same heat, the delicious pressure, the moans, the scratches, his legs wrapped up around your waist. You wish you could melt, you wish you could touch his soul with your hands, to make sure his soul remains there, pure, untouched, stainless.

The first time was desperate, urgency filling you both as you clumsily removed your clothes. Then you never made it to the bed. It was on the floor, it was messy but you didn't care, you needed to feel him in your arms, to look into his sleepy, puppy dog eyes and know that everything would be okay. The backseats of the Impala, a motel, wherever, it didn't matter, sometimes there were no words, just kisses, just touches, just instinct, pure undiluted lust. Some others there were feelings, there was anger, there was pain, there was jealousy, there was a promise.

You made love the night before your time was up. Then the kisses were salty and the words uttered were hopeless and despaired. Sam was upset and you made him promise he wouldn't do anything stupid, he had to move on without you. You always treasured that night and now you feel you did the right thing.

After that everything fell apart. It had felt that way after Sam came back from the dead. It was almost as if Sam had lost his innocence and brought back pure malice, but no, it wasn't like that. For you he was the same Sammy, you knew he was. The same who sang "Wanted Dead or Alive" with you and all that. But this second time, when you came back things weren't the same. Never. You chose to blame it on Ruby, on Lillith, even in Castiel and those feathered douchbags. Ruby poisoned Sam and it hurt to see how much he believed in her.

You felt betrayed when he left to Stanford, but having him trusting that bitch over you was terrible. Almost as terrible as watching him walking away from you in Colorado. Not quite as awful as it was seeing Lucifer taking over him in that twisted future Zachariah showed you. You don't like to think of _that _look with the look that he has almost permanently now. And you saw him too, you saw him saying yes and it felt as if you had lost your brother.

You don't want to think you did.

You come with his name on your lips but this time it tastes bitter, like the worst betrayal and you know why. It's not easy to erase that smirk on his face. It's not easy to accept that he was there and he didn't move a muscle to stop that freaking vampire from turning you. He simply stood there with a smirk and let you go through the worst experience so far. Remembering that smirk makes you feel nauseated.

After the orgasm washes over you, you turn your head. You don't really want to see him, you're afraid to look in his eyes and see that whoever that is inside him, is not Sam. He notices the awkward silence and stares at you, like he did whenever he was a child and wanted you to tell him something you didn't want to say.

"You know you can always count on me, don't you? I'll never let you down."

For a moment his tone reminds you of your Sammy, nerdy, shy, sweet Sammy. But when you look in his eyes you see a shadow of this new Sam you don't like, the one who wouldn't do anything to stop you from turning into a bloodsucker.

"I know" and your voice sounds strained.

Sam kisses your lips, soft, just a brush, and you wish you could believe him like you did before, but as soon as you see his eyes again you wonder if you'd ever be able to trust him again.


End file.
